Unexpected Visitors in Time
by falconer54
Summary: A modern day police officer gets a surprise in the form of our favorite detective and doctor. But things quickly get dangerous when the officer's friend is nearly killed...Rated because I'm paranoid, and for later possible content. COMPLETE
1. Unexpected Arrivals

A/N- I know this has been done a million times, but I want to have my own go at it. My first piece, so the only criticism that will be accepted is CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. WARNING: This is probably not going to be any good, and will in all likelihood not be finished. Also, I am very bad at responding to messages, so reviews and PMs will probably not be acknowledged. Not to be rude. I am just extremely lazy.

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson do not belong to me, they belong to ACD.

**Chapter One**

Of course this occurs last thing Friday afternoon. I was sitting behind my desk at the small police station, rather bored, as it had been an unusually uneventful, and rainy day, even for Plano. I wondered why Dallas got all the excitement. Despite the thunder, I was deeply immersed in a book (okay, fine! _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, to be exact) and therefore did not hear the door opening until the two dripping wet men were standing completely in my office. With a start, I snapped the book closed, feeling a little guilty.

"How may I be of ser-" I abruptly stopped, getting my first good look at the two men, who were both dressed in Victorian clothing. One was tall and rather thin, and his grey eyes were looking at the WANTED posters; his face was expressionless. The second man was of an average height, and he had kind hazel eyes and a moustache. "No way, there is no freakin' way I'm seeing this," I muttered disbelievingly, glancing with wide eyes at the cover of the book, and then back at the two men. They looked uncannily similar to the famous duo on the cover of my book.

"Is something wrong, miss?" the second man asked in British accent.

"Please tell me you two are NOT a Mr. Sherlock Holmes and a Dr. John Watson. Please tell me that you aren't…" I answered, which was quite an amazing feat, seeing as my jaw was slack with disbelief.

"I am afraid that we are, Miss Willow." The first man- Sherlock freakin' _Holmes_- if he was to be believed- which I regrettably did not doubt- he also spoke in a British accent, and he knew my name, even though I had not told him.

"Please, call me Riley." I managed to get out, my expression slowly morphing from that of disbelief to that of giddiness. I had always been a big fan, and had read the each of the doctor's stories multiple times. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Holmes," I said, grinning, offering out my hand, which he reluctantly shook. "The same goes to you, Doctor," I said, offering my hand to him, which, in contrast to his companion, he warmly shook.

"I'm going to have to say something, and I might as well get it over with." I cleared my throat and continued. "You went from Victorian England to twenty-first century America. Plano, Texas, to be precise. A suburb of Dallas." They just stared. Holmes had what I would bet was the most amount of surprise that he had ever shown in his life on his face. The doctor's jaw went slack, then shut, but Watson's eyes were still wide.

Realizing that they must be cold, I strode over to the gas fireplace. I was taking the appearance of two literary characters remarkably well. And they were taking the time travel even better. "Want me to light the fire?"

As Watson replied in the affirmative, Holmes brought to my attention that I was missing a match. "No problem, Mr. Holmes. I don't need one."

"Ah, I might have guessed that things have changed in a hundred and seven years. Although I must regrettably say I am curious as to how one can light a fire without a match."

I did not bother to ask how he had managed to deduce the exact number of years, seeing as he _was_ Sherlock Holmes. 107 years… Calculating in my head, I realized that they had been transported from about six months after the events of _The Empty House_. "Like this," I said instead, and flipped the switch. At this, Holmes raised an eyebrow, muttering something about how maybe not all police were incompetent fools, and the doctor visibly started. I let them dry in front of the fire for several minutes, and I grinned as I realized that Watson was looking at the book I had abandoned with a small smile.

I couldn't believe I had the fortune to have my two heroes in my own office! I was snapped out of my thoughts by the Doctor, who was talking.

"Thank you, Miss Wil- Riley. I am very sorry to be of imposition to you," Watson apologized.

"Not at all, Doctor," I replied. _Is he kidding me? This is the best day of my whole life!_

Paste your document here...


	2. A Gunshot in a Storm

**Chapter Two**

"So you are a police officer? I hope you are not as insufferable as Lestrade." Needless to say, that was Holmes.

I ignored the latter sentence and answered the detective. "Yes. I am also a police artist, but that is more of a hobby. Why are you asking if you already know the answer?" We were in my car, driving to my house. I had decided to let them stay in my guest bedroom for the time being. I knew Holmes would not take well to having to reside in a woman's home, but there was no alternative. They also would need aliases… I would also need to get them some modern clothes, and bring them up to speed on modern culture… I shook my head. I would deal with that when the time came.

I rode slowly, being careful of the rain. I had never seen the Dallas area so empty. I looked at my gas meter, and cursed. Holmes raised his eyebrows but said nothing. I was certainly _not _going to alter my behavior just to make the Victorian men feel more at ease. "My tank's almost out; I'll need to stop and get gas," I said as way of explanation. Seeing their confused looks, I added, "Cars run on gas, rather like… well, I guess like a steamboat uses steam."

I stopped at the nearest gas station, and started to fill the tank. I had the distinct feeling of foreboding, like a chill that went through my spine. I had just begun to close the door when I heard the distinct but unmistakable report of a gun.

Holmes and Watson were out of the car and on their feet in an instant; Holmes' eyes flashing at the thought of a case, and Watson pulled out his service revolver with a single movement that had been practiced to perfection on the battlefield, and later, accompanying Holmes. "The shot came from over there!" I shouted over the pounding rain and sporadic thunder. Holmes and I were running over there, Watson at our heels covering the rear. I saw a man fleeing for a moment, illuminated by a flash of lightning, and started to run after him when I saw the injured man lying on the ground.

"No! Spencer!" I gasped as I recognized the battered body as that of my colleague. Spencer Wade was lying face down on the pavement, his wispy blond hair starting to turn red as the blood pooled from his back, soaking his uniform. I started to run toward him, pleading to the Lord that he was still alive, that we had not been too late… He had to be alive, he just had to…

Watson rushed to him and knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse.

"Well?" I asked, not bothering to hide the tremor in my voice. Spencer was so amiable, so good natured, it broke my heart to think of my fellow officer as dead. Had it been just that morning that he was teasing me about my nose always being in a book?

The doctor looked me squarely in the eyes. "He's alive. But only just."

A/N: I just love cliffhangers… Unfortunately, I now have writers' block, so feel free to offer suggestions. I may or may not use them, but hopefully they will get the gears turning again. Reviews may also help (hint, hint) And sorry it is so short, the next chapter will be longer, i promise!


	3. Vigil for a Comerade

**Chapter Three**

As Watson bent over the terrifyingly still body of my comrade, trying to get him to hold on, I whipped out my cell phone and called an ambulance. Then I realized that Holmes and Watson would need fake names in case they were asked questions.

"Holmes, your alias will be Travis Price. Watson, you will be a Dr. Kevin Young. Any objections or changes?" Both were fine with their "names." As soon as I saw the ambulance, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I explained the situation to the paramedics, who were looking with a bewildered expression at Watson. "I'm Officer Riley Willow, this is my colleague Officer Spencer Wade. Heard a gunshot, rushed over, found him like this." I discreetly nodded to Watson, who let the paramedics take over. Then I rushed to my car and followed the ambulance.

"Sorry Holmes, Watson. But I need to know if he will be okay. Let me handle the talking, alright? Remember your aliases. So, do you think I should tell him the truth if- _when_- he wakes up?

"Holmes, what did you deduce about the shooter?" Watson suddenly asked, startling me and Holmes out of our thoughts. We were in Spencer's hospital room, but getting Holmes and Watson in there had required a lot of pulling strings. At least I had got them some modern clothes to wear, so they did not look like freaks.

"The shooter is about Spencer's height – 5'8"- and is left handed. That I deduced from the angle of the bullet. Unfortunately it was so dark I was unable to deduce much else."

"I saw his silhouette illuminated by a flash of lightning," I put in. "I am certain it was a man, from the broad shoulders. His profile was mostly average, but he had a sharp, defined chin. Wait, let me draw what I saw… hold on…" I fished around in my bag to pull out my small sketchpad, and quickly drew the profile in a few deft strokes. "Here, anything to add?" I showed them my drawing, and they both agreed with my sketch. I was about to say something else when Spencer stirred.

"Where…?" He noticed me, and his eyes went wide. "Riley! Wha- What 'appened? An' who are _they_?" He asked.

"This is what happened. I was in my office when these two showed up, must 'ave been the nearest building to shelter from the storm in. Their names are Dr. Kevin Young and Travis Price." I felt bad about lying to Spencer, but there was no choice. "They're from England, and were planning on movin' here, but a fire destroyed their homes. I offered to take 'em in, and was driving home and I got gas. I was about to leave when I heard a gunshot. You'd been shot in the back; I called an ambulance. The rest you can figure out, Spence. Do you mind if the three of us go back there?" My voice took on a steely edge. "Whoever did it will be sorry, I assure you."

He faintly nodded, obviously exhausted by the effort of speaking earlier. As Holmes, Watson, and I got up to leave the room, a nurse came in. I informed her that he had briefly woken up, and the three of us got into the car and drove back to the gas station.

**A/N**: Reviews are very welcome! And if anybody sees a bit of their own story in it, well, the plot has been used so much it pretty much belongs to the public domain :) And maybe it wasn't that much longer, but hey! Speed is good, right?


	4. The Game's Afoot!

I saw another officer there, and I was given sympathy. At my insistence I was granted access, but he firmly forbade Holmes and Watson to enter. It was now ten in the evening, but the storm was finally letting up. Leaving Watson and a grumbling Holmes by the CRIME SCENE- DO NOT ENTER tape, I entered the grassy yard next to the building.

Taking out my camera, I took several photos. Then, I looked under the awning. There was a footprint that must have belonged to the shooter; there was an imprint that said _Nike _and I knew that Spencer's pair was currently – well- soaked, and he _never_ wore wet shoes. He had changed out of his Nikes this morning; after misjudging the distance of a rather massive puddle. Borrowing some Plaster of Paris from the others at the scene, I made a cast of the print after snapping a photo. The shooter had apparently also fled rather quickly after Holmes, Watson, and I arrived on the scene, as there was a fragment of a navy blue windbreaker snagged on a tree branch. Unfortunately, other than the footprint and the jacket fragment, which I carefully put in a Ziploc bag, the shooter had done an excellent job of covering his tracks.

* * *

A short time later, I found myself arguing with the officer in charge.

"Officer Willows, this simply is _not _a case to be done alone! We will help you, whether you want the help or not!" Officer Brady was getting quite exasperated with me.

"I will _not _be alone; two trusted men will be helping me! And with all due respect, I am the closest to Spencer, and I _will _do this alone, and at my house, which frankly has just as good of equipment as the station!"

"Fine! But don't go blaming me when this blows up in your face!" Brady was now quite red in the face.

"I assure you, Officer Brady," I said, my voice as cool icily calm, "I _will _succeed, or you will see my resignation letter on your desk. Good night."

* * *

"Well, _that _went well," I said to a still annoyed Holmes and a calmer Watson. "But I got permission to do it alone, at least." We were finally going back to my house. "Well, here's my house. I live alone, if you don't count the occasional stray animal. Don't worry, no wildlife is in there now," I said, opening and unlocking my front door. "After you."

"It's not much, but it's perfect for me. Two-bathrooms, two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a study. The study has all my equipment. Would you like to work on the case or get some sleep?"

"Sleep," Watson said with a yawn, as Holmes said, "Work on the case, of course."

"Never mind, I'll work on the case with *yawn* you two," the doctor said, changing his mind.

I stifled a small laugh. "Would you two like coffee or tea? I'm going to get a cup of coffee, myself." They both wanted coffee, although I suspected Watson just didn't want to nod off in the middle of going over the clues so far.

"Thank you, Riley," Watson said, kicking Holmes in the foot.

"Thank you, Riley," Holmes said, glaring at the doctor. Watson just smirked. I sighed.

"Do you have a pipe? My own one seems to be back at Baker Street," Holmes asked.

"No, I don't, and neither of you will be doing any smoking. It has been scientifically proven to cause Lung Cancer, as a matter of fact," I stated.

Holmes and Watson each sank themselves into the sofa, and I opened up my Laptop and sat in between them so they could both see the Laptop.

"What is that – contraption?" Holmes wondered.

"A Laptop," I answered. "Marvel of technology," I said, typing in my password and opening my crime-solving technology. I hooked up my camera to my computer, and downloaded the pictures I took, as well as my sketch I drew in the hospital. I passed the Ziploc bag to Holmes. "Deduce away; but don't actually say anything until I plug the data in, deal?"

Holmes did not answer; as he was too busy staring at my laptop, with his mouth agape. I would bet my job that this day held the most surprises that he had ever had in his life.

A/N: Reviews are very welcome; I hope I did not scare anybody off. Seriously, they would make my day ;-)


	5. The Gap

**Chapter Five**

"So, this is the data I got… I plug in what I know, and it narrows down the list of possible suspects," I explained, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "So, Holmes, what about the fabric?"

"Well, I am not familiar with the type of fabric, but the jacket is new- the shooter had just bought the jacket before he shot your friend-"Holmes broke off as I winced.

"Never mind, continue," I said.

"Well, he just acquired the jacket because the fabric has never been washed. Is it possible that you could get a list of customers from this store? It appears to be called "The Gap."

I doubled over in laughter. Just hearing the last two words coming out of Holmes' mouth was hilarious.

"Yes, I can," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "Luckily I'm a Police Officer, otherwise that would be awkward." As Holmes got up to leave to my car I added with a mischievous grin, "And you two need more modern clothes, anyway." Holmes just groaned.

"Well, this is the last Gap store I know of in the area," I announced. The others had not had any navy blue windbreakers in stock all week. We had retired for the night, seeing as the Gap was not open at two in the morning, but Holmes had made sure we were there as soon as the store opened. "Hopefully this will not turn out to be a dead end, eh?"

"Hello, how may I help you?" a clerk asked, eyeing my uniform with unease. Seriously, we only try to help! Why are people so nervous around us?

"These two are just looking," I said, pointing my thumb over my shoulder to Holmes and Watson, who had come in behind me. That gesture, along with the corresponding words, earned me a death glare from the detective. "I'm here on official business. Did a male, about five-eight, buy a navy blue windbreaker? I have reason to suspect he shot somebody."

"What- If I had know- yes, he did. I'm sorry, I had no idea, I-" The clerk stammered.

"You couldn't have known; you're not in trouble. But could you pull up his receipt and give me his description? He probably used a stolen credit card, but we might be able to track him using a description."

"Yes, I can. Usually it's against policy, but since you're an officer… Hold on, one second," she muttered, going to the desk. A while later, I had a copy of a receipt, and was asking her for a description; my sketchpad was out.

"Well… The man was Caucasian, had an angular face, and a Roman nose… …let me think… he had dark eyes, and Black hair- it was a Mohawk. He had a tattoo on his left- wait, not left, right arm- of a green snake that was surrounded by red fire… I think the snake was coiled… …That's all I can remember, sorry," the clerk said.

"Don't be. You've been extremely helpful. Does this look like the man?" I asked, showing her the sketch.

"The likeness is creepy, actually," she replied. "I think your two friends are done, by the way. Good timing, huh?"

Holmes had picked out a white shirt, a tan coat, and brown pants. The coat was the most Victorian-looking coat in the store. "H- Travis," I had almost used his real name, "this isn't England. You'll boil to death in that coat." Holmes reluctantly put the coat back. Watson, meanwhile, had tried to not stand out; he was holding a much more temperature-appropriate grey shirt and tan pants.

Five minutes later, Watson and I were trying to convince an incredulous Holmes to at least _attempt _to look modern. The ride home had never seemed longer.

"Holmes, just think of it as another bloody disguise!" Watson finally snapped. I was a bit startled. The doctor seemed to have an infinite amount of patience, and I had doubted that he even _had _a breaking point. But Watson's seemed to be landing in the beginning of the 21st century. Not that I blamed him; the insufferable detective, frankly, had had it coming to him for quite some time.

"Yes, you need to be disguised as Travis Price, Holmes. To do that, you need the clothes," I quickly added before Holmes could do something to the doctor. Holmes glared first at Watson, and then at me, as if unsure of who to scowl at. Changing the topic, I added, "When we get to my house you can meet me in my study; we have enough of a lead to identify our man, I think."

Holmes and Watson watched as I typed in the description and scanned the image I had drawn into the program. "Hold on," I told them, "This might take awhile…"

A short wait later, a profile had pulled up on the screen.

XAVIER AKASTRA

"Wanted for murder of Ashley Easton in Arkansas… Rumored to have escaped to Texas… wanted fugitive… dangerous…" Watson read from the screen.

"What are we waiting for?" Holmes asked.

"A strategy," Watson and I said at the same time.

Just then, my cell phone rang. "Yes… We'll be right there, sir," I said. I put the phone down.

"What is it?" Holmes asked.

"Spencer. He's fully conscious. And he has some things to tell us."

A/N- sorry if any real names are used. They are not intended to be real at all.


	6. Spencer's Story

**Chapter Six**

I quickly got everything ready, and I started thinking about what I would say to Spencer. I couldn't lie to him; Watson and even Holmes were in agreement about that. Thus it was that we spent the whole car drive to the hospital thinking about what we would say to him. We got to Medical City and I jumped out of the car. I barely waited for Holmes and Watson; I was in such a frenzy. I hurried inside the hospital and paused beside the desk; catching my breath. "We're here to see Spencer Wade," I informed the receptionist. I ran to the elevator, leaving Watson trying to catch up and Holmes yelling at me to slow down. Breathless, I keeled beside Spencer's bed.

"Spence. Spence, wake up- I'm here," I said between gasps.

"I'm awake, Rie," He whispered faintly, slowly opening his deep blue eyes. I was relieved to see they had recovered some of their vigor.

"I need you to meet some people, Spence. They need to hear what you have to say as well. They are who they say they are, Spencer. You _must_ believe me."

"Rie, just tell me who they are. I'll believe ya. Ya know I will." He said with a sigh.

I moved aside to show him my companions. "Spencer, meet Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. Watson saved your life after- well-," I continued on. "We've finally figured out who did it. Xavier Akastra, Spence, it was Akastra."

"I said I would believe you, Riley. But this is a bit much. Mr. "Holmes", prove that you _are _in fact Sherlock Hol-" he broke off with a strangled cry of pain. I was about to call for the nearest doctor when I remembered Watson was in the room. And anyway, Spencer had continued talking. "-mes," He finished weakly.

"You live alone, and you were attacked by a large dog as a child," Holmes began. "You are-"

Spencer interrupted him. "Okay, maybe you are Sherlock Holmes. Now I've seen everything," he said with a laugh that quickly morphed into a grimace.

"Spence! Are you alright?! Spence!" I nearly shouted.

"Yeah," he said, "It's jus'- well- laughin' hurts. But back to the problem at hand. Do you three have a plan to catch this Akastra guy?"

"Akastra guy? Akastra guy?! He very nearly killed you, Spencer!" I demanded. Wow. I really needed to get a grip on myself. "But I was told that you wanted to tell us something. What is it?"

"I knew Ashley Easton. He was my dorm-mate in college. And Akastra- he went there too. We kept besting him at athletics. Even though he was a genius, and an A student, he got mad. He got mad and, well, we had always questioned if he was, you know, right in the head and all."

I was shocked. He had known them? Why hadn't he told me? I could tell that all this talking was hurting him, and I said as much.

"No," he answered, weakly shaking his head, "I- I have to tell somebody. So he was a bully to us, and resorted to the lowest of ways to hurt us. First he arranged an "accident" in our dorm rooms, but I was studying in the library and Ashley was at a football game. His next big scheme was at graduation. By then we were certain that 'e was mentally unhinged, but he kept his act together in front of the teachers. But that plan failed, too. But when Ashley was killed, I was horrified. I worried that he would come to me next. But then, on Friday, I found a note on my front doorstep. It said something along the lines of:

WADE-

I KILLED EASTON. I WILL KILL YOU NOW. AND I WILL GO BACK IN TIME AND WIPE OUT YOUR ANCESTORS. BUT FIRST I WILL MAKE SURE A CERTAIN VICTORIAN DETECTIVE AND DOCTOR, THE ONES OFFICER WILLOW IS SO FOND OF, ARE NOT PRESENT TO STOP ME. BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, THEY WILL NOT BE IN THEIR CORRECT TIME.

AKASTRA

So when I found the note, I was certain that he was off 'is rocker. I knew that, however slim the odds, I had to catch him, so I got on my motorcycle and drove off to the station to get you, Riley. But he found me first, at the gas station. You know the rest." He let out a breath and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted by the explanation.

I was deeply shocked by this revelation. First, that Akastra had been keeping such close tabs on us; he even knew my interests! Second, that time travel was real. If Akastra was the explanation for Holmes and Watson being in the 21st century, then that meant that he could, in fact, wipe off Spencer's ancestors. And Spencer would in all likelihood cease to exist. And I would be dead too, because Spencer and I had saved each other's lives on more than one occasion. We had to stop him now, before Spencer was wiped out of existence.

A/N- Sorry to anyone actually reading this piece of junk. I had writers block, and two tests. Review please (puppy dog face)


	7. Inferno

**Chapter seven**

"Where did Spencer say the three possible places for a hideout were?" I asked Watson, who pulled out a notebook.

"Either an abandoned shed-" he began.

"Thanks, I remember now. He said to go down LBJ, right? What about checking that out first?" I said. The last part was really a rhetorical question, seeing as I was already turning onto LBJ Freeway (Interstate 635 for you non-locals). Holmes just sighed, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "not that we have much choice."

(The site is screwing up my formatting, so just pretend that this is a line)

That's how we found ourselves trapped in a burning building. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Watson guarded the entrance to the small shed, and Holmes and I went into the shed…

…to find the figure of Xavier Akastra hunched over a machine. I let out a breath I did not realize I had been holding. Holmes and I shared a glance, both of us thinking the same thing: _That must be the time machine._

It was smaller than I had expected; it was about the size of a shoebox, and it was sleek, except for a dial and a touch screen that must have been the controls. Akastra suddenly looked up.

"Officer Willow, Mr. Holmes," he sneered. His voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "What a pleasant surprise. Just in time to see me begin my vision, the beginning of a new world."

"And what is that vision, Akastra?" I asked him, even though I did not want to know.

"A world of geniuses… You and Spencer don't make the cut, I'm afraid. I really am sorry to kill you, you know. But I have to. You will interfere with my plans. It will be a perfect world, full of prodigies. Only a select stock is fit to pass on their genes. Hitler was right, you know. He just had the wrong Master Race. I will get people to follow me, and once the less than elite, the average people, are eliminated, the chosen will live in a Utopia of opportunity. Mr. Holmes, I won't kill you. Join me now, and I just might let the doctor live. Otherwise…" He held up a lit match. With a cackle, he threw it at my feet. As sparks leaped up, I felt my mind racing to think of a plan. The storm on Friday had not been sufficient to dampen the bone-dry wood of the old shed, and as a result flames were quickly leaping up the bone-dry shed. Memories coursed through me, and the fire engulfed me in a panic as my eyes went wide…

…_ I was five years old, and I was playing with my twelve-year-old brother, Isaac. We were home alone. "Go Fish!" I ordered Isaac, in that aloof voice that only a five year old can muster. But he was not paying attention. _

_"Riley, I smell smoke!" he hissed at me, just as the fire alarm started blaring. I looked around the room in panic, dropping my hand of cards. "Stay low, Riley!" my brother shouted. "The smoke rises!" But I was in a panic attack and was coughing by the time we reached the door. Isaac was holding me around the back with one hand. With a powerful shove, he pushed the oak front door open, and we stumbled out onto the porch. As I lay there, gasping for breath, Isaac pulled me to the lawn. I realized that my brother had just saved my life…._

…Then the smoldering two by four fell on my head, with no more warning than a creak before it snapped under the intense heat; I fell into darkness.

WATSON PoV

I steadied my revolver on Akastra's head after I saw Officer Willow fall. I saw Holmes grabbing her, shoving her lithe, unmoving frame out of the door. Not that I would say it to Holmes, but for all his disdain of women he reacted very quickly. Keeping my gun trained on Akastra, I snarled, "You are a madman!" Almost without thinking, I pulled the trigger, just as Akastra pressed a button, and there was a flash of white light. The time machine had activated, just as the shed imploded on itself. As the scene dissolved around my eyes, I saw the bullet miss Akastra. My aim had been true, but the time change had caused it to fly into the flames devouring the shed. Thank goodness, Akastra might have been a criminal, but I was a doctor; I was trained to heal, not to harm.

I just had time to grab Holmes, who had been knocked back by the explosion, as I fell into a void that had not been there before. We must have been a sight, Akastra, an evil grin on his face; Me holding my revolver in one hand, and Holmes, who still had a hand shoving Officer Willow out the door, grasped firmly in the other. In the tunnels of time, I realized it was time we were traveling through now; Akastra and the time machine tumbled away from us. I could only continue to hold on to my companions as I continued falling through time.

A/N: Yay, now we're getting somewhere!


	8. A Dunk in the Thames

**Chapter Eight**

Spencer opened his eyes and yawned. When he stretched, the movement sent a sharp pain through his back. Suddenly, he remembered the events of the last… what was it, two nights now? He had lost count; being awoken for some reason or another every three hours had really been messing up his body clock.

He wondered how Holmes, Watson, and Riley were doing. _Holmes and Watson_. Spencer let out a small silent laugh, shaking his head. He still couldn't believe they were real. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:30.

Riley's parting words suddenly rang in his ears: _We'll drop by at eight tomorrow if we find anything out. In fact, we'll drop by anyway. See you at eight tomorrow, Spence._ A jolt of alarm coursed through him; the only thing that ever kept Riley from honoring a promise was injury or other harm. He would never forgive himself if he had sent Riley to her death… He shook his head firmly, repelling the unpleasant thought. She was probably just caught in traffic, or had another reason other than harm coming to her.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. "Com' 'n!" He shouted.

He was surprised to see the sturdy figure of Officer Brady enter the hospital room. But what really worried Spencer was the look in Brady's eyes. Eyes always told the truth. Even so, the next words out of Brady's mouth would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"She's missing."

(Pretend there is a line here, site is screwing up my formatting again.)

Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard was worried. Holmes and the Doctor had not been seen for two days now. He had just discovered they were missing that morning when he went by the insufferable detective's flat on Baker Street to (regrettably) ask for help on a matter. But neither the doctor nor the know-it-all detective was home. Their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had informed Lestrade that neither had been seen for more than a day; she was beside herself with worry.

Now Lestrade was walking down the Thames, and he saw an urchin trying to rob a woman. One withering look from the Inspector sent him, sans any loot, away. It was then Lestrade's eye caught sight of the figure in the Thames trying, unsuccessfully, to keep two others afloat. Hesitating for only a moment, Lestrade took a deep breath and jumped in.

(What can I say? My lines aren't working. Just picture one here)

Spencer did not have to ask whom Officer Brady meant by his Usage of the pronoun. The moment that Brady had set foot in the room he had know that something had happened to Riley. At least she wasn't dead. Missing implied that there was still a chance, however slim, of her being found alive. Dead was final.

As if trying to finish before either of them lost their composure, Brady rapidly continued. "Firefighters called us to an abandoned shed off LBJ; the shed had burned down and they suspected arson. Officer Willow's car was found by the shed. The two people with her, Travis Price and… what was his name…" Brady suddenly snapped his fingers. "Dr. Kevin Young, that's his name! Dr. Young, Price, and Willow seem to have vanished without a trace. We have found the half-melted remains of a bullet, and we suspect foul play. I shall keep you informed, Wade." Without waiting for a reply, Brady turned on his heel and slowly closed the door to the room, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

(Pretend there is a line here. You know the reason by now)

As soon as Lestrade reached the figures, he was shocked to recognize the struggling form of Dr. Watson. The doctor was dressed strangely, but that was not of imminent concern.

"Doctor!" Lestrade shouted.

"Lestrade!? Quick, you get the woman! I'll help Holmes!" Came Watson's gasping reply as the Doctor put one arm around his friend and started swimming towards the bank with the other.

_The woman? Why is _Sherlock Holmes_ in the Company of a _Woman_?! _Lestrade thought as he grabbed the woman with one arm and started kicking with the other. He reached the bank of the Thames first. Hoisting the woman onto the bank, he went back to help the doctor. But the doctor, stubborn as ever, refused any help and managed to get Holmes onto the bank.

Checking to see that the detective was alright, he then moved on to the woman. Under Watson's gentle coaxing, soon she had coughed up a fair amount of the Thames. Suddenly Holmes stirred, leaving Lestrade to deal with the woman.

Coughing, the world's most annoying detective opened his eyes. As soon as they were halfway open, he looked around, eyes wide. "We're back," he breathed.

_Back from where?_ Lestrade wondered.

"Not your most stunning deduction, Holmes," the doctor said, oblivious to Holmes' glare.

Holmes suddenly noticed Lestrade, and his shoulders slumped. "Rescued by a Yarder; I'll never live this down!"

Lestrade was mildly offended.

"Don't worry, Holmes. He helped Officer Willow. I got you," the doctor reassured Holmes.

"Good," Holmes muttered, closing his eyes.

Lestrade ignored that barb and hailed a cab.


	9. How it all Began

**Chapter Nine**

( Riley's PoV)

The first thing I noticed is that I was soaking wet, and that there was a constant throb in my head. The second thing I noticed upon waking was the smell. I have always hated the smell of horses, ever since I stayed at a ranch one summer. But I was now faced with that smell, and it did not belong in the urban Dallas area.

The next thing I noticed was the potholes. I was in a vehicle, but no automobile would ever be that bad at absorbing the bumps. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were there, along with another small man. _Ferret-faced_, I think. Then I'm surprised that I thought that. I seldom ever come up with that word to describe somebody. Unless… no way. _Lestrade!? Then… then that means… I'm in Victorian London!_

"Miss Willow? How are you feeling?" Watson's voice. But why was he calling me… oh. Of course. This was Victorian London. Gentlemen did not exactly interact with women on a first name basis. Watson was trying to keep up a façade.

"Been better. Where are we going?" I answered.

"Scotland Yard, Miss." Lestrade replied in a clipped, formal voice. "Then you, Mr. Holmes, and the doctor will tell me exactly what happened."

(Same story. Formatting issues. Deal with it.)

"The twenty first century." Lestrade asked in an "I-really-don't-believe-your-story-so-what-_really_-happened" voice.

I swallowed. I had played the part of the interrogator many times before, but never that of the recipient. Let me just say this- I now know why everybody is intimidated by us police officers. "Yes, Inspector," I replied curtly.

Watson jumped in, and I gave him a grateful glance. "Holmes and I were walking home from dinner at Simpsons' when I remembered I had forgotten my coat. I went back inside to get it. Just as I rejoined Holmes, the storm started. He had just hailed a cab when there was a bright flash of lightning. Then suddenly, we were surrounded by another storm, but we had completely changed location. Holmes and I were getting quite… soaked… by then and we ran inside the nearest building… which happened to be a police station. That is where we met Officer Willow here. She had invited us to stay with her until we got back to London, but on the way home…" Watson broke off here to take a breath.

"Officer Willow's colleague, an Officer Spencer Wade, was shot," Holmes said bluntly, then continued to the part where the shed exploded.

"And the shooter, a Xavier Akastra, sent us back here, but he tagged along to eliminate Spencer's ancestors!" I finished.

Just then, a figure hurriedly broke into Lestrade's office. "Hopkins, what do you want?!" Lestrade asked the ashen man.

Pale faced, Hopkins replied: "Some blackguard just threatened to kill me to "wipe out" my descendents, Lestrade!"

Even though he had addressed the question to Lestrade, Holmes quickly snapped a question at poor Hopkins. "What was their name, Hopkins?"

My heart sank and my blood went cold at Hopkins' response. "Xavier Akastra."

A/N: Yes, Spencer is related to Hopkins! Admit it, none of you saw that coming did you? (Evil grin)


	10. Stand Next to Me

**Chapter 10**

Holmes, Watson, and I were looking for Akastra. Again. I snorted at the irony as I

"Holmes," I hissed suddenly. "Watson. I think we're being watched." Sure enough, I could see three figures sulking towards us. _Why on earth did we take the alley? _

The next moment, each of us was engaged with an opponent. My opponent tried to kick me in the side, but I blocked it (The guy was strong-my shin will have one nasty bruise for a while) and followed up with a left hook to his jaw. Evidently surprised that a woman could fight, he froze for a second. That was all I needed. I raised my leg and kicked him in the - well, let's just say I don't always fight fair. As he was doubled over, gasping in pain, I got out my police pistol and clocked him over the head. He dropped like a stone.

I looked over at Watson and Holmes. Watson sent his opponent reeling back with a strong right cross, and Holmes was finishing up his opponent as well.

All three men were sleeping like babies- albeit full grown, aggressive babies- and the three of us looked at each other like, _okay, that was exciting. Now what?_ The awkward silence existed for a few more moments before Watson suggested, "I'll summon the nearest constable. You two guard them."

It was as good of a plan as any, and Holmes and I agreed.

"Where did you learn to fight?!" Holmes demanded as soon as Watson was out of earshot.

I shrugged. "T's not like one can become a police officer wi' out learnin' to fight. I needed to be able to defend myself," I said. Remembering something, I smiled slightly. "Spence an' I used to practice together."

Holmes nodded. "Watson's approaching with a con- make that an Inspector," he said.

"Gregson?" I asked, not seeing Lestrade's small form.

Holmes shook his head. "No, Bradstreet."

(You know what? I'm just going to use a pattern from now on. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~)

Bradstreet was an amiable enough fellow, I decided back at the yard. He had certainly had a hard enough time believing my story at first, but I did not blame him. He seemed like a fun-loving guy, but I could tell he could be serious if he wanted to.

Stanley Hopkins, Roger Bradstreet, and Unknown-first-name-that-begins-with-G Lestrade were deep in discussion with Holmes, Watson, and me about what to do about the Akastra Situation. We had only been in agreement about several points. Those were: a) only people already involved with the affair were to be told about time travel. That meant no telling Gregson or Mrs. Hudson. Actually, that was the only point we had agreed on so far.

(~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~)

"I'm only going to say this one more time!" Hopkins' voice was raised as high as he could raise it without attracting attention. "Lestrade, you and Bradstreet are the only people talking now who have not been directly attacked or threatened. Miss-"

"Officer," I interjected indignantly.

Hopkins sighed. "Officer Willow, Mr. Holmes, and Dr. Watson have all been caught in a fire and have all been attacked. I have received a death threat threatening to kill me to 'eliminate my ancestors.' Bradstreet, you were only involved in that arrest earlier. Lestrade, you were only involved because you rescued them from drowning in the Thames. My point is, we are already involved, and no amount of danger is going to stop us. Besides," his voice hardened, "my job is to make London safe. And nobody is safe with this madman loose."

I moved over to stand next to Hopkins. "It may not be my job in this time and place, but I am still a police officer, and Hopkins is right when he says nobody is safe. And Spencer is my friend." I was shaking with fury now, but I kept going. "And I will do anything to protect him."

Watson got up and stood next to Hopkins and me. "I may not be in the army anymore, but I still have a duty to England. Nothing can take that away. And if I can save lives by fighting Akastra, then it is my responsibility to help."

Holmes got up as well and stood next to the three of us. "And I _never_ give up on a case."

Hopkins nodded and swept his hand, indicating us. "We are prepared to fight Akastra, and you cannot stop us. So the question becomes, will you help us?"


	11. What do the Blackguards Know?

**Chapter Eleven**

A/N: Wow, eleven chapters! I think that's the most chapters I've ever written for one piece!

"Well?" Hopkins demanded, glaring at the other two inspectors.

"I never said I wouldn't help, Hopkins," Lestrade began carefully. He seemed to be choosing his words like a chess player chooses which piece to move. "I was just-"

"You were just _what?_" Hopkins asked, feigning curiosity.

"I was just… nothing. Never mind. I agree with you. Nobody is safe, and it's our job to make London safe." Lestrade skirted around the question.

"I'll help too," Bradstreet said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. With the six of us, we might be able to find Akastra before… no. I wouldn't even think about it.

"Good. Now, let's see if those three blackguards are awake," Hopkins said.

We first checked on the prisoner that Holmes had fought.

Holmes opened up the interrogation. "What's your name, and why did you decide to attack us?"

To his credit, the prisoner seemed to be scared to see the six of us. He had a Cockney accent, but unlike the Irregulars would be, he was not our ally. "Me name's Jack Harold, gov'. Oi, gov', it wasn't me decision! Oi' swear, gov'!"

"Then who made the decision?" Lestrade asked calmly.

"Mr. Ak'stra's, gov'. Oi jus' was in it fo' the moiney, Oi swear! 'e said 'at 'e would get me five crown', gov'! An' Oi've always loiked a bloomin' good foight, gov'!" Man, his accent was strong. I could barely understand him.

"And where does this Mr. Akastra live, Mr. Harold?" asked Holmes.

"'e doi'n't tell me, gov'. Oi don' know, gov', Oi swear Oi don't!" Harold's eyes were wide. "Oi'm not in charge. Tommy's the bloke 'n charge. He moight know!"

"Which one is Tommy, Harold?" I asked dryly.

"The one yew fought, miss. An' he'll be right mad, 'e will. When he gets 'is hands on yew, yew had better watch out!"

I brushed aside the threat.

"Yew again. Yew foight right good, fer a girl," was the first thing Tommy said. I noticed with no small amount of pleasure that a bruise was forming on the side of his jaw where I had hit him. "'ere, now, gov's. Whoit do yew want?" Even though his words were- not friendly, exactly, but not rude, either- there was an underlying sneer that made goose bumps form on my arm.

"I am Inspector Hopkins. What do you know about a Mr. Akastra?" Hopkins asked.

"Oi don' know where 'e lives, gov', but I know that 'e wants ter kill yew, gov. 'e said somthin' 'bout roight an' proper killin' yew, gov, ter kill your descendants. 'e said if Oi didn't get them," he gestured at me, Holmes, and the Doctor, "ter get yew, Inspe'tor 'Opkins."

With that, he suddenly jumped on Hopkins. Surprised, Hopkins flinched. Then Hopkins was on the ground, kicking at Tommy. With a bellow, Watson suddenly joined in the fray.

A short time later, Watson had his (still soaked) revolver on Tommy's head and Hopkins was getting up and dusting himself off.

"So, attacking a Scotland Yard Inspector. Not your best idea ever, I may say," Bradstreet interjected scathingly.

Hopkins and Tommy glowered at Bradstreet.

A/N- I really had no Idea how to end this chapter. But hey, at least it's not a cliffhanger!

Cockney "Translations"

My name's Jack Harold. It wasn't my decision, I swear.

Mr. Akastra. I was in it for the money, I swear. He said he would give me five crown. And I have always liked a good fight.

He didn't tell me. I don't know. I swear I don't. I'm not in charge. Tommy is in charge. He might know.

The one you fought, miss. And he'll be mad. You'd better watch out when he gets his hands on you.

You again. You fight well, for a girl. Now, what do you all want?

I don't know where he lives, but I know that he wants to kill you. He said something about killing you to kill you descendents. He said if I didn't get them, to get you, Inspector Hopkins.


	12. Blood Ties

**Chapter Twelve**

A/N- Unfortunately, I have had a sporadic case of writers' block, so… sorry if this chapter is not good. I am going to continue it, but I am going to BS until I come up with a way to end it. But I hope it will be good BS.

Spencer closed his eyes, ignoring the pain in his back. It was far less painful than the pain in his heart. He had sent his best friend and her idols to their deaths. He was as responsible for their deaths as if he had set the fire that killed them.

* * *

"Miss- Officer Willow, what's Spencer like?" Asked Inspector Hopkins, wanting a description of his relative. He had asked me to come to his office alone.

I paused, a wave of sadness washing over me. Would I ever see him again? "He's… will be… loyal. Funny. Hard working and fun-loving at the same time. He has a strong sense of fairness and right and wrong. That sense of justice is what prompted him to join the force. But it can also cause him to… go overboard sometimes. Once I was hurt while on duty. It was a thief, a common criminal. When he saw us coming, he panicked. Fired his gun. One of the bullets nicked the side of my head." I pull aside my hair to show him the scar. As I continued to tell the story, I let my hair fall back down over my head, concealing the scar. "I fell. I… I only remember vague fleeting… impressions… of that incident. It was the first time either of us had been injured while in the presence of the other. I remember feeling something wet dripping down the side of my head, soaking my hair. When I touched it and my hand came away red, I knew I had been hurt. I was prepared to die then. I did not know how badly I had been hurt. I remember a roar of pure rage. I felt more than heard it was Spencer. There was another person with us, a rookie. That rookie, Reggie Dayton, had the presence of mind to keep pressure on my head, yet I still blacked out. When I came back to consciousness, I was in a hospital. I heard Spencer talking- arguing- with other officers.

"'…Wade, you are on shaky ground-"'

"Officer Brady, Riley had been hurt. I thought she had been _killed! _I admit I was acting a bit extremely, but I thought my best friend was… had been… …I thought she was gone, Brady! I thought she was _gone!" _The grief in his voice was intense. But Hopkins, it was his next words that would remain imprinted in my mind forever. "'However… I had no intention of killing him."

* * *

_As Riley closes the shackles around the criminal, Spencer begins to read him his Miranda Rights. _

_"You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, the state will provide one for you…"_

Spencer wakes up with a jolt. As he remembers his dream, he wonders if he will ever see Riley again.


	13. Just in Case

**Chapter Thirteen**

Here I paused. I swallowed, taking a deep breath, and continued telling my experience to Hopkins.

" 'I had no intention of killing him. I got carried away…"

Officer Brady sighed. When he spoke next, his voice was hard and firm. "Yes, yes you did. However, it could be argued it was in self-defense. Willow had been hurt. You were acting on the assumption he would attack you next.'"

Hopkins had been listening to my account with an attention that I had seldom seen. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he said: "Thank you for telling me. You… you may go now."

I nodded in acknowledgement and turned to leave the room.

* * *

I had barely turned when Holmes came rushing in, with Watson, Bradstreet, and Lestrade close behind. The room seemed to shrink with the influx of people.

"Holmes. What is the meaning of this?" Hopkins asked in a carefully controlled cadence.

"I've discovered where Akastra is hiding." He paused for dramatic effect.

"Just say it already!" Lestrade snapped.

Holmes scowled. Lestrade had ruined his moment. "Soho. Broad Street."

* * *

The only thing I knew about Broad Street is that it was where the big cholera outbreak had started. [1] As I got into the cab, I paused. _It's amazing how what would be a wild dream one day is reality the next._

I looked at our small army of police, doctor, and detective.

Hopkins, the ancestor to Spencer. Lestrade, the loyal Inspector. Bradstreet, the optimistic Yarder. Holmes, the world's only private consulting detective. Watson, the stalwart doctor. And me, the average, if nerdy, Dallas policewoman.

All of us were united under one common goal: to fight Akastra to the last.

As we got out of the cab, I halted. The others turned.

"I… if… If I don't make it, I want to say… Thank you. For everything. It's… it's been an honor to work with you."

With that, we barged into the house on Broad Street.

1- Check out MadameGiry25's story "The Ghost Map"


	14. Home at Last

**Chapter fourteen**

Akastra was waiting for us. He had three henchmen by his side.

His voice still sent shivers up my spine.

"So… Officer Willow. Inspector Lestrade, Inspector Bradstreet." His voice was icy cold. "Inspector Hopkins. Dr. Watson. And, of course, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I gave you a chance Holmes. I gave you a chance, but you chose to stand with them. I will now kill you as I would kill any who are deemed unworthy." He turned on Hopkins.

"Starting with you, Inspector!" He fired a single shot from a pistol. The one pistol that had almost killed Spencer might now kill his ancestor.

Hopkins fell, and the battle exploded.

In the melee, I managed to reach Akastra. So did Lestrade. "He's mine, Lestrade," I snarled.

As I tackled him, he pressed a button.

Time exploded.

* * *

With a jolt, I found myself back in my own time. I looked around, confused. Around me, Holmes and Watson were getting up as well. Hopkins was still. The others were- _Hopkins!? In Dallas?_

Akastra was out cold. The time machine was next to him. I shook my head, trying to get the nausea out of it- a side effect of time travel, I supposed. I, for my part, called an ambulance.

* * *

"Where the _hell _have you been?" Spencer shouted.

"I-"

"Two months, Riley! Two months! Two months of me thinking I had sent you two your death!"

"Two months? I was only gone for two days, at most!"

"And… I've finally come to a realization, Rie. I… I love you."

With that, we pulled each other into an embrace. And started to kiss.


	15. Epilouge, or Until Death do us Part

Epilouge

"And now I ask you, in the presence of God and this assembly: Do you, Spencer Wade, take Riley Willow to be your wife, in joy and in sorrow, to love, to respect, and to cherish her for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Spencer said firmly, yet with affection at the same time.

"And do you, Riley Willow, take Spencer Wade to be your husband, in joy and in sorrow, to love, to respect, and to cherish him for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." I had come so close to losing him, that I would cherish him forever.

"Spencer Wade and Riley Willow, it is now the moment to speak the words and exchange the rings that make you husband and wife."

And from then on, I was no longer Riley Willow. I now proudly bore the name Riley Wade.

A/N: I don't usually write romances, but Spencer and Riley were made for each other. I had not planned on them getting married, but some characters have a mind of their own.


End file.
